compressing thoughts,
creativity,
breath.
Young learning,
forced onto an
8.5 by 11 inch
bound
test booklet.
I can feel it in me:
my lower back aches;
my legs and feet throb;
this creates a sort of malaise
for my heart: a weakness.
I want thoughts to run free,
questions, ideas, excitement,
clumsily tramping down
the frosted grass,
sleeked with freezing drizzle.
The Earth is strong, though;
She can take it,
blooming again next month.
The students, too, (although
only children) can take it.
Stronger because of the system
to which they are
forced to
learn in,
play in,
grow in.
I know this because
they come back
again and again,
tomorrow and
always.
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This poem is still VERY rough. I would appreciate any and all feedback.
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